Off Nash point Vale of Glamorgan
White reflecting grey
Walking Poet
I followed my breath on this cold frosty Boxing day morning. My walking boots made a crunching sound as i walked through the bare flowered meadow. Black branched trees danced to the wind’s tune. I looked up to the clear winter blue sky and above me a Red Kite let out its cry.
Footsteps mirr…
Footsteps mirroring your thoughts follow your breath to where the sun reflects”.
Poems and thoughts from the walking poet 